


No Short Cuts on the Night Watch

by paper_star



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Mirror of Erised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24864898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paper_star/pseuds/paper_star
Summary: “So,” Harry prods, turning to look at Malfoy fully. He wants to see the reaction when – well. What would Draco Malfoy even see in there? Surely not the same thing he would’ve seen two years ago – maybe his family as a whole again? Maybe the world forgiving and accepting him like Hogwarts – and Harry – have? “What do you see?”
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 221





	No Short Cuts on the Night Watch

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on [this Tumblr post](https://jam-art.tumblr.com/post/128432472203/what-if-like-draco-didnt-know-what-the-mirror-of), which I have not been able to stop thinking about (and ugh the art is glorious). This was written in about half an hour, so apologies for any errors.

They nearly miss the room entirely.

It’s the third loop around the corridors on their watch shift when Harry, casually and a little half-heartedly prodding classroom doors open to make sure there aren’t any students out, notices a strangely familiar glimmer in one room.

He’s nearly certain he had checked this room before, too – but then, he and Malfoy had been out patrolling the corridors for nearly two hours, and he’s frankly lost track of which rooms he’s already glanced into. It could easily be the first time they’d even been down this bit of the hall – or the third, or somewhere in between. Doorframes and brick walls blur together after a while.

The glimmer in the corner of _this_ particular room is – well, it almost feels like it’s _calling_ to him, and he stalls in the doorway to peer at it. “Potter?” Malfoy inquires, stopping a few paces from him and drawing his wand. Harry’s gaze darts to him and then back, and without a word he shuffles through the partly open door.

The room is nearly empty; there are no desks or chairs, but there are a few old cauldrons stacked along the right-hand wall. Cobwebs dangle everywhere and it clearly hasn’t seen a good cleaning in years – decades, perhaps. The only other item – and the newest addition to the room, judging by the comparably thinner layer of dust on the cloth hiding it – is in the far left corner, a bit of its shiny surface peering out and catching Harry’s eye. He can already tell by the shape of it, even under the cloth, that this is an old friend, a treasure and curse he hasn’t seen in years. Malfoy repeats his name, this time less patiently, as Harry crosses the room and pulls the dusty cloth down with no hesitation.

Sure enough, the Mirror of Erised is sitting in the corner of an empty, ignored room off a frequented hall, as if it was simply an old piece of furniture for which the castle couldn’t find a spot. It looks just as tall and impressive as it had when he was eleven, and Harry smiles a little as he reads the carved script on the top of its frame.

His smile fades as he looks down into the mirror itself; he hadn’t properly thought it through, and had assumed – well, of _course_ he’d still see his parents, and his family – but there are other additions to the crowd that proudly stands behind his reflection. Hermione and Ron are there – and Hagrid, taller than all, and, painfully, Sirius, Remus, and several others he’d lost along the way. Hedwig, in her snowy beauty, is perched on his reflection’s shoulder, gazing at him – the real him – like she knows. Like she knows his turmoil of the changing group of people his heart considers family, some pressed out of the mirror’s frame and others shuffled in. Like she knows the turmoil of Ginny being still very much in the mirror, but further back among the faces, closer to Mrs. Weasley and not at his side.

Turmoil like seeing a different person directly next to his reflection, and – they’re not holding hands, he’s sure of it, but they’re stood so close together that they could be and hardly anyone would notice.

“Really, Potter. And people say _I’m_ vain,” Malfoy says, coming up beside him to stare at the mirror. Harry tenses and can’t tear his gaze from where Malfoy – the real Malfoy – fits nicely where the newest figure reflects in the mirror. Of course he does. It’s a mirror image, really, and if Harry hadn’t seen the figure there a moment ago, he’d assume it was just Malfoy’s reflection.

He waits a moment to see if Malfoy says anything – if he gasps, or panics, or anything, _anything_ to show that he notices this isn’t a regular mirror – but he doesn’t. He’s mostly looking at Harry curiously. “So,” Harry prods, turning to look at Malfoy fully. He wants to _see_ the reaction when – well. What would Draco Malfoy even see in there? Surely not the same thing he would’ve seen two years ago – maybe his family as a whole again? Maybe the world forgiving and accepting him like Hogwarts – and Harry – have? “What do you see?”

Malfoy stares at him, one eyebrow quirked. He looks into the mirror, and Harry holds his breath – not even meaning to, but the air suddenly feels heavy, and maybe he doesn’t _want_ to know what Malfoy sees –

But Malfoy looks unchanged as he turns back to Harry. “Forgot how mirrors work, Potter?” he asks, a bit mockingly but not with the same fire and hatred from years prior. Things weren’t perfect, but they’d been… peaceful, nearly, and Harry had thought – Harry had wondered –

“Stand in front of it properly,” Harry says instead, because he can’t think like that. He’d had to do this with Ron, too – Malfoy just isn’t squared in front of the mirror enough, he thinks. And he steps out of the way and pushes Malfoy closer to the mirror and more centered, and then stands at his side to stare into the glass. He tries not to think about how the crowd he sees shuffles a bit so that his reflection and Malfoy’s – well, it’s not truly a reflection if he’s just part of it now, is it? – can stand parallel to where they actually are. “What do you see?”

Malfoy looks a little more judgmental now, staring straight at the mirror – and then locks eyes with Harry through it. “It’s a _mirror_ , Potter. I see you and me.”

And Harry – Harry doesn’t know what to _do_ with that. He stares into the mirror, but he ignores the crowd of family and friends for the two figures closest to the front. Malfoy is lanky and blonde and pale, with blue-grey eyes staring right back at him and into his soul. His own reflection is, in comparison, a bit shorter and considerably darker, with messy hair and emerald eyes that are a lot less terrified than he feels. They’re a startling pair, their reflections – almost beautiful, he thinks. Instead of saying anything, he squeezes Malfoy’s upper arm once, and steps back, clearly removing himself from being anywhere near the mirror’s reflective surface. Malfoy raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “And… and now?” he asks, voice clotting with nerves.

“Potter –”

“Just –” Harry wants to argue it, but Malfoy’s already glanced back to the mirror, perhaps out of instinct, and he freezes. Harry knows, in a terrifying, wonderful heartbeat, that Malfoy still sees him. Both of them. “What do you see?” he asks again, soft and small and wishing he could see for himself what Draco Malfoy’s Mirror of Erised shows.

To his surprise, Malfoy goes paler than normal, and his throat is working harshly. He looks _terrified_. It takes Harry less than a minute to realize why. “You know what this is, don’t you?” he asks quietly, eyes wide. He’s still getting used to others having knowledge of items and stories and lore that muggleborns only get through first-hand experience. And – well, _Ron_ hadn’t known what this was, so he wouldn’t have assumed – but Malfoy looks near _tears_ –

Without a word, Malfoy’s entire face shuts down, and Harry can practically feel a wall slamming up protectively around the other man. Spinning on his heel, Malfoy paces away from Harry and the mirror, and towards the room’s door. “Our watch is over,” he says crisply, and the old coldness is back in an instant.

Harry stands there stupidly for a moment, but then realizes the weight of it and darts swiftly after Malfoy, who picks up pace but Harry’s quicker –

“Wait, Malfoy, don’t –” he manages, clutching onto Malfoy’s elbow and yanking him back. Malfoy won’t look at him, but Harry is able to grip both of his arms and turn him nearly so they’re face to face.

“That mirror’s broken, Potter,” he says finally, and it’s an obvious lie and – well, of _course_ they both know that _Harry_ knows what the mirror truly is – he’d brought them over to it, after all – “Our watch is _over_. Let _go_ –”

“I see my family,” Harry blurts, and Malfoy looks like he wants to break away and flee even more. “And – and my friends, but – there’s you.” That gets Malfoy’s attention, and he stops struggling for a moment. He looks at Harry, finally, and Harry’s breathing shudders at the look he receives. “You’re – you weren’t there before, but –”

“Do you know what that _is_?” Malfoy asks quietly. Harry drops his hands from the other man’s arms and nods the smallest bit. “Do you know what it means to – to see another person in there, when they’re not actually standing next to you?”

And Harry wonders, then, if Malfoy would’ve seen him in the Mirror of Erised – seen Harry standing next to him plain as day – back when they were younger. When they were sixteen and caught up in a war they didn’t start. When they were twelve and fighting on the Quidditch pitch. When they were eleven and didn’t become friends. The look on Malfoy’s face makes him think, _maybe_.

Before Harry can respond, Malfoy turns to leave again, and without thinking, Harry darts forwards and grabs Malfoy’s hand to stop him.

Malfoy pauses for only a second before turning back, reaches out, brackets his hands on the sides of Harry’s face around his ears, and drags him forward and _kisses_ him.

It’s exactly as thrilling as their entire competitive relationship has been, fiery-hot in their stomachs and adrenaline pumping through their blood and nearly giving Harry a headache from the rush of it all. He thrusts his hands up and cables his fingers through Malfoy’s hair, gripping it almost too tightly and pulling him even closer. They stumble together, unbalanced and clumsy and hardly paying attention to where they wind up, but eventually come to the left wall of the room. Harry’s slammed against it first, but within seconds he swings his weight and he’s pressing Malfoy against the ashy bricks. Then Malfoy flips them again – and then Harry, and then Malfoy – and then Harry crashes them into the mirror and they tumble apart.

An echoed cackle from down the corridor claws Harry back to the present, and after a moment of remembering how to breathe normally, he quickly darts to scoop up the piled cloth and toss it haphazardly back over the mirror. Without a word, they both dust themselves off and head for the door, silent. Walking across the room feels like walking through a tangible _something_ , like the heat and tension are nearly solidified and each step is oddly strained. Malfoy reaches and peers out of the doorway first, likely looking for Peeves, and Harry watches him for a moment. “Malfoy – Draco,” Harry tries, not sure he’s ready to leave this new universe they’ve torn open in this room, “I…”

Malfoy doesn’t look at him. Harry’s afraid he won’t respond at all, but he can see the other man’s pale fingers digging into the doorframe, anxious. “Can this even _be_ more than – ” He cuts off, staring pointedly out to the corridor. Harry swallows, feeling his throat tighten like the fate of the world lies in his response. Maybe it does.

“It already sort of is, isn’t it,” Harry says, because they couldn’t go back to _before_ , not now. Not now that he knows what too-hot, too-much feels like. Like the burning of their previous fights, previous battles, previous competitions, but amplified and more addictive and like it’d be _worth_ it.

Malfoy looks at him like he’s afraid Harry will turn a Them down, a friends them or otherwise, like he had back in first year. So Harry straightens up and holds out his hand. It’s pointed downward, fingers spread a bit, and definitely not offering a handshake, like Malfoy had seven years ago. This is different.

It feels like Harry can’t breathe while he waits, staring stubbornly at Malfoy, hand and heart out for the taking or the breaking. Malfoy swallows loudly, and reaches out to slide his hand into Harry’s, long fingers fitting surprisingly well between Harry’s stockier own.

They drop hands a moment later, but it’s enough. It’s a new Them, blood-cold terrifying and gut-twist enthralling. The next step feels inevitable and yet Harry knows they can let it come as it will – and, well. It _will_. It has to, now.

Neither notice, as they duck down the corridor to finish their watch and avoid Peeves, the door to the nearly empty room gently close and blend itself into the surrounding brick, only a rusted handle showing it exists at all, any glimmer from the depths inside tucked away, a secret once more.


End file.
